Draco Malfoy and the Summer from Hell
by Mirlle
Summary: This is a Crossover with BtVS and my twist on the 'Aunt Buffy' Challenge on TtH. It is the story of how Draco spends the summer after his sixth year, complete with Slayers, demons, Voldemort and lots of cheese.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K Rowling and Buffy and Co. are the property of Joss Whedon.  
**Summary**: A response to challenge 834 'Aunt Buffy', this story takes place a year after the end of Sunnydale and during the summer before Draco's sixth year.

**Rated**: for swearing and Draco's generally vile personality.  
**Reviews**: are much appreciated and welcome, especially if constructive in nature, as objective readers tend to catch mistakes I don't.

**Please note that this story has been edited and resubmitted in anticipation of continuation. I'll try not to leave another two years in between chapter updates.**

ooo

**Draco Malfoy and the Summer from Hell**

**Prologue**

Somewhere in a comfortable Ministry office in England, two men were engaged in a shouting match. The subject of their argument - a boy approximately sixteen years of age - was sitting quietly and morosely in a comfortable chair that matched the office's décor, intent on blocking out his surroundings. He was feeling numb, both physically and mentally, and had there been less in the way of an audience he would no doubt have curled up and whimpered.

Not cried though, oh no. The first thing he had ever learned was that amongst a great many other things, a Malfoy did not cry. It was simply not done. Perhaps, he had mused one summer afternoon after his father had lectured him on the benefits of not showing emotions, the Malfoy clan ought to commission a spell to remove their tear ducts. It would be so much simpler really, and it wasn't as if the family couldn't afford it.

Pulled from his reverie, Draco Malfoy was forced to return to reality, a place he would under the circumstances rather have avoided for as long as possible.

"…for the last time, Minister, you cannot do this!"

It was odd, thought Draco, to see his godfather in such an unholy fury. As Potions Master and Head of Slytherin House at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Professor Snape rarely displayed emotions besides contempt and/or cold amusement at the misfortune of others (particularly Gryffindors, though sobbing Hufflepuffs were also known to afford him some amusement) and thus appeared almost alien in his righteous anger. Blotches of colour had appeared on his high cheekbones and he seemed moments from wrapping his bony fingers around the throat of the podgy Cornelius Fudge. Said Minister of Magic was engaged in cowering behind the figure of his Assistant Junior Something-Or-Other, Percy Weasley, only to now and again emerge from behind the afore mentioned underling's shoulders to hurl invectives and spray the general assembly with fine flecks of spit. One could accurately surmise that the Minister was enraged.

"…and if you think that a former Death Eater of all things will have ANY say in this matter, you have another thing coming!" he ended his current stream of abuse, having momentarily run out of steam.

Had he more energy, Draco would have graced the portly Minister with one of his trademark sneers; under the circumstances however, the best he could manage was a flinch.

This did not go unnoticed by the fifth and final occupant of the chamber. Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of the very school Severus Snape and Draco Malfoy attended in positions of teacher and student, had spent the not insignificant duration of this discussion alternately observing the boy at the centre of argument and worrying quietly to himself. The patented twinkle had left his eyes and a cup and saucer of fine china were shaking lightly in his grasp. This was a bad business alright, and there were no doubts about it, Cornelius Fudge had decided to make a statement and Draco Malfoy was to be its victim.

"…but he won't have a way to defend himself! What if that harridan of an aunt of his takes it upon herself to look for him or, Merlin forbid, the Dark Lord himself remembers his existence? What then?" screamed Snape, almost beside himself with rage and worry. "This is a death sentence and we both know it! The sins of the father, Minister, are not the sins of the son."

"That is enough Severus," added Dumbledore, before Fudge had a chance to once more add his knut's worth. "While I quite agree with your sentiments, the Minister's mind is clearly made up and nothing we can say will change that.

Here Cornelius Fudge took the chance to smirk at Snape in a most unbecoming manner from behind his human shield, and would indeed have gloated verbally had Dumbledore not continued, "However, Cornelius, I do have one or two concerns to voice."

Severus Snape snorted and threw himself into a chair next to that of his godson, who was sitting ramrod straight and staring off into the distance, apparently not hearing a word said around him.

"While I acknowledge that Mrs. Malfoy's last wishes ought to be honoured, Minister, I feel that your personal feelings on the subject are clouding your judgement. I agree wholeheartedly that Bellatrix Lestrange should under no circumstances be given custody of _any_ child, whether it be Mr. Malfoy or any other. I even understand your misgivings about handing him over to his godfather, unsubstantiated as they are. But to even _contemplate_ foisting him off onto the care of these Muggles, of whom we know nothing other than that they were at one point acquainted with a Mr. William Black, that Minister I truly do not understand."

"Listen here, Dumbledore," Cornelius Fudge had taken the opportunity of Snape's apparent surrender to seek refuge behind his desk, "Narcissa Malfoy's Last Will and Testament states quite clearly that in the case of anything happening to both her and her husband, care of her son should fall to a Mr. William Black. Several Ministry employees under the supervision of Mr. Weasley here preformed a location spell to ascertain the current whereabouts of said Mr. Black and it was established that he is no longer among the living. Sad as that may be, they did manage to find out that he left behind instructions which asked that all his possessions be turned over to a Miss Buffy Summers, and these now include Mr. Draco Malfoy. Even if I had misgivings about turning him over to these Muggles - which I do not," here he paused momentarily to smile for the benefit of Professor Snape, "I would still have qualms about contesting a perfectly valid legal document such as this. Therefore it is my decision that Mr. Malfoy will go to live with these people until such time as he is of age and able to make decisions for his own self. As I understand it, he will be seventeen in about a year's time. To be honest with you Albus, I don't see what the problem here is and really, if Narcissa hadn't been comfortable with the idea of her son living with these Muggles, she shouldn't have killed herself; it's as simple as that." Here the Minister leaned back in his chair, feeling for all the world like a king in his castle.

This pronouncement was met with silence by all parties. Dumbledore looked troubled, Snape glowered, and even Percy Weasley seemed momentarily shocked by the callousness exhibited by his superior, though it could have simply been a case of mild indigestion.. Draco, under the circumstances, took the announcement rather well. Paling considerably at the Minister's last sentence, he dwelt once more on just how much he hated Fudge and turning his head quite noisily threw up.


	2. Into the Breach

Disclaimer on first page.

**Chapter One: Into the Breach**

Two days later, Percy Weasley and Draco Malfoy looked upon the white-washed façade of Stretham Rectory, conveniently located in Stretham near Ely, each with their own unique opinion.

Percy, deemed as he was by some to be utterly incapable of anything resembling independent thought, was feeling uneasy. It was a bad business that brought him to such a sleepy village on so sunny a sunday morning in May, and though he would never voice his misgivings, he thought that perhaps on this occasion Minister Fudge might perhaps have acted a little…hastily.

Not that lesser mortals such as he ought to be second-guessing an inestimably superior intellect such as that belonging to Cornelius Fudge, Percy hastily edited himself within the confines of his own mind. No, the Minister surely knew what he was doing; otherwise he would not be Minister now, would he.

Percy laughed nervously to himself, which earned him an odd look from Malfoy. He was really much better off in dealing with such delicate and pressing matters as the consistency and deference of cauldron bottoms to European standards and protocols. These things were important, after all! Of course, he could not help but gloat at the compliment the Minister had paid him by entrusting him with his current errand and yet, he could not help but wish to be once more safely entrenched behind his desk and well away from the creepily silent Malfoy spawn. Anywhere but here, really.

Draco, incidentally, was thinking some rather less positive thoughts - namely how much he despised the sun for shining, the birds for singing and most importantly, Weasley for existing.

If he were to admit it to himself, he was also feeling mildly panicked.

As much as he normally loathed Professor Dumbledore and everything he stood for, Draco had to admit that the old fool had seemed to do everything in his power to keep him out of the clutches of these Muggles,though it had turned out to be pointless in the end.

Draco had no doubt in his mind that as soon as the old coot, his godfather and himself had left the Minister's office to return to Malfoy Manor and begin to pack what belongings he was allowed to take with him to his new prison, Fudge had no doubt revelled in his perceived victory over the last heir of the Malfoys, no doubt going so far as to swill expensive whiskey and dance an elaborate dance around his garish office. The Minister had always been jealous of his family and their power and no doubt saw the opportunity of his father's incarceration and his mother's…accident as a chance at getting his grasping paws at the Malfoy fortune.

His mother… oh Merlin no, he would not think of that now. He would not!

Laboriously pulling himself together, Draco frowned at the large house before him. It seemed more or less normal, even by wizarding standards, in that it appeared to be in possession of several walls, three stories, a roof and various doors and windows. Other than that, Draco wasn't sure what to make of it, so resolved to scowl just to be on the safe side.

By his father's command, he had gone out of his way to avoid associating with any of the muggleborn students at Hogwarts other than Hermione Granger, and in her case it was all in the name of winding up Potty and the Weasel. Therefore he had nothing in the way of standards to judge this place by. Of course it was nowhere near as impressive as Malfoy Manor, but Draco was forced to admit to himself that few places were.

According to his father, Muggles were more animal than man, incapable of the simplest tasks, and more often than not they lived in hovels. This place, Draco had to admit, was in no way hovel shaped. More than anything, it was large and airy looking, in what appeared to be a state of good repair and surrounded by lush trees.

Glancing at Weasley out of the corner of his eye, Draco was determined not to show fear. A Malfoy was never afraid and if he was he most certainly wouldn't admit it.

Percy, at this point was also pondering the inhabitants of Stretham Rectory, though his thoughts were running more in the direction of how to present them with 'the problem'.

He carried, in his briefcase, both a letter from the Minister explaining the situation in detail (though it omitted a selection of facts such as the existence of the Wizarding World and Mr. Malfoy's own abilities) and a standard contract of guardianship which had been edited slightly so as to not raise any suspicions in the unlikely event that the Muggles actually decided to _read_ it before signing.

Having taken a mental inventory, Percy nodded to Draco and girding his metaphorical loins, started his way up the substantial garden path.

In preparation of this mission, he had consulted the Muggle Liaison division of the Ministry and was therefore able to both ring the doorbell and not jump too high in surprise at the noise emanating from the house in response.

Draco, not being similarly prepared, had no such luck.

The Ministry employee Percy had spoken with had assured him that pushing this button ought to result in something like the sound of a large bell ringing which would inform the inhabitants of his wish to speak with them. Instead his delicate eardrums were assailed with a cacophony of sounds, under which - with great difficulty and some imagination - he supposed a tune could be heard.

One look at Malfoy's face at least reassured him that he was not alone in his horror.

Moments later, the door opened onto a pleasant looking young Muggle girl who seemed inexplicably covered in dust and appeared to of all things be clutching a brassiere in her left hand. Looking from him to Malfoy, the girl smiled in a friendly fashion.

"Hi, can I help you?" she asked, and Percy was relieved to note that their research had been correct; these Muggles really _were_ American in origin. Before he could open his mouth to reply she continued, "Hey, you're not Jehovah's Witnesses are you, 'cos if you are, your buddies came by last week and I'd have to tell you the same thing I told them. This is a strictly non-religious household and we've all resigned ourselves to burning in the eternal flames, thanks for asking though. Try the Cordners down the road, they seem especially gullible."

Percy blinked a few times and decided to not even try to make sense of what she had just said, "No, were not…that is …uhm…," he got no further than that before the girl's smile brightened.

"Oh, have you come to see Giles? He's not here; he's gone off to Azerbaijan or something and won't be back for ages."

Percy, still somewhat off balance through the continuation of the dreadful din, decided not to even wonder what a giles might be and could not help himself but ask, "Dear God, what is that racket?"

"Yeah, I'm sorry about the noise," came the reply, "unfortunately Andrew was in charge of shopping the day we got the doorbell and it's been playing the Star Wars theme tune ever since. As if that isn't bad enough, one of our more enthusiastic uhm…students broke it the other day and even Xander can't figure out how to fix it, so now it just sounds awful and won't turn itself off."

Nodding slightly and inwardly totally bewildered, Percy tightened the grasp on his briefcase, resolved himself to get this over with as soon as possible and in a steady voice asked, "In that case, might I speak with one Buffy Summers?"

"Sorry, no can do, she's off in Rome being a skank and won't be back 'til she get's dumped," the girl replied, smiling cheerfully and yet looking almost regretful, "I'm her sister Dawn, anything I can help with?"

Percy decided to bypass the first half of that sentence on the grounds that it was probably not in English and therefore couldn't possibly apply to him and instead focused on the latter part. A family member would just have to do.

Glancing once more at Malfoy, who by now appeared to be as nonplussed as he himself was feeling, Percy grasped to regain hold of his composure, in his most ministerial manner opened his briefcase and with a flourish presented several sheaves of stiff white parchment to the Muggle before him, "Indeed there is, Miss, are you of seventeen years or older?" he asked.

"Yup, turned seventeen a couple of weeks ago," the girl answered, and by now appeared curious.

"Excellent," he replied, and really felt it was, "delivery for Miss Buffy Summers, sign here, here and here please."

The girl shrugged and signed her name on the lines indicated. With the squiggle she added on the last s, Percy at last expelled the breath he had been holding. It was almost over.

The second the Muggle girl lowered her hand from the parchment Percy yanked the now signed contract from her grasp and hastily stuffed it back in his briefcase. He pressed the letter from Minister Fudge into her unresisting hands, breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the source of all his problems.

"There we are Mr Malfoy, that's everything taken care of. Off you go, be sure to behave yourself and we'll have someone over tomorrow to answer any questions your new family may have. Do take care," he added to both Muggle and teenaged wizard alike and quickly made his way down the garden path before anyone could stop him.

Draco, while loath to admit it, was rather impressed by the way Percy the Prig had managed to - true to his name - weasel his way out of this situation, leaving him to deal with the fallout.

The Muggle girl on the other hand, had by now stopped smiling and was rapidly frowning from the letter in her hand to Draco himself and at Weasley's rapidly retreating back. Blinking rapidly a few times, she lightly shook her head before her eyes finally came to rest on Draco and the bags at his feet and she asked in a slightly dazed voice, "What just happened?"

If he hadn't already decided to spend every single moment of this summer hating everyone and everything in it, he _might_ have felt just a little bit sorry for the girl.


	3. Meet the Scoobies

Disclaimer on the first page. Spoilers are through all of Buffy & Angel and the first five HP books.  
Incidentally, Stretham rectory is a real place, though I have no idea what it ooks like on the inside. Artistic license, how I adore thee!

Dawn Summer was proud of being a normal well-adjusted teenaged girl. She took even more pride in this fact as she was realistically speaking around four years old and had not always been human. "Really," she often thought, "considering the circumstances, I could have turned out to be a complete whack job."

Well-adjusted or not, however, her grasp on the events taken place in the last five minutes was rapidly spiralling out of control.

"Ok," she thought to herself, "I was in tidying my room and cleaning out the dust bunnies from under my bed, when I found my favourite bra which I thought I'd left in Rome. Oh, look...here it is still in my hand, I bet I'm blushing now...anyhow, then the doorbell rings and I go to answer it, knowing that the mini slay-brigade is in the back garden doing their trainy stuff. Cool, so far so good. So I go to answer the door to these two guys and squiggle my John Thomas on some form for Buffy and the next thing I know, I've signed us up to be the proud owners of Blondie McScowl-a-lot. Just what in the name of hell is going on?"

Draco was rapidly losing what little patience he had for Muggles who stared.

The girl was alternately blushing or frowning, and he felt an urge to shake her or something, if it were not for the fact that this would involve touching a Muggle, and everyone knew they bred disease. He could feel himself starting to panic again at the thought of having to stay here, but viciously reigned it in. A Malfoy did not panic, and he'd be damned if he broke the silence first.

"Oh shit," thought Dawn, "I can't believe I signed those papers without reading them first. What if there was small print? Maybe there's something wrong with this kid and that's why they're giving him away? He must be faulty and I bet there isn't even a warranty and…oh crap, I may have just signed away my immortal soul! Adieu cruel world, Buffy's gonna kick my ass for sure when she finds out."

Draco was cautiously observing the Muggle girl with growing interest. Sure, she was still staring, but the way in which she was rapidly going red, then white, then red again was really quite impressive. Did all Muggles do this? Was it perhaps some sort of bizarre greeting ritual?

"Argh," thought Dawn, "this is that whole musical extravaganza thing all over again, except for the singing and the dancing and the blobby creepy looking demons…ok, so not that much like the musical…why is it that when you really need her, Buffy is off boning some old guy in Rome? Crap, crap, crap what do I do now? Oh well, there really is just one thing for it."

Draco was vaguely disappointed that the girl had stopped turning colours and was instead just staring again. He was about to stick his tongue out at her and see if it would make her faint, when she opened her mouth and let loose a tooth-rattling screech that nearly made him jump out of his own skin.

"XAAAANDEEEEEEER!"

He pondered the possibility of this being some sort of war-cry meant to call a horde of feral Muggles who would no doubt come and club him to death with his own shoes. The Ministry would never find his body and Fudge would cackle with glee that his plan had worked.

He was therefore, not overly surprised when a large dark shape wielding some sort of scarily authentic looking battle axe came hurtling out of the hallway beyond the Muggle girl.

"Dawnie, you ok?" gasped the shape, which turned out to be a tall, dark-haired young man sporting Muggle clothes and an eye-patch. He looked from Dawn to Draco and lowered his axe slowly, "why'd you scream?"

The girl merely gibbered meaninglessly and pointed first at Draco and then the letter in her hand.

"What?" the man asked, scratching his furrowed brow, "Dawnie, you're speaking gibberish."

The girl continued waffling insanely while gesticulating madly at Draco, causing the young man to look at him as if for explanation.

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Draco snapped, angry with himself at breaking his vow of silence, "My name is Draco Malfoy and I am supposed to be staying with a Buffy Summers until I come of age, as one of my relatives apparently knew her and passed me on in his will." He scowled as he said this, feeling more than a little bitter at being passed around like a piece of furniture.

"Oh," came the reply and had Draco known Xander Harris, he would no doubt have been quite chuffed at rendering him almost speechless, "okay…so…okay."

Draco rolled his eyes at this particular display of eloquence and waited for the inevitable.

"You're related to Buffy and Dawn?" came the question he'd been waiting for.

"No," he replied, sneering disdainfully, "Absolutely not."

The dark-haired man frowned, "Then why did they send you here?

"I told you, a relative of mine apparently knew her and mentioned her in his will, which is why I'm here," he sniffed, adding, "trust me; I wouldn't be here if I had a choice."

"The other guy gave me a letter for Buffy," the girl addressed as Dawn added weakly. "And he said something about sending someone over to explain everything tomorrow."

"Okay," the other Muggle added once more, nodding weakly, "in that case, you'd better come in so we can sort all of this out. I'm Xander by the way and I don't know if Dawn told you but Buffy's out of the country at the moment and we're not sure when she'll be back."

Draco snorted something that might have been affirmative and picking up his bags, entered the house and followed Dawn and Xander as they walked down a hallway which led to a large oval room, furnished with comfortable looking couches and chairs. Normally, he would never have carried his luggage himself, but he had been informed that Muggles did not possess house elves. He really didn't want any of these people pawing at his belongings with their grubby hands.

A young brunette woman who looked to be about the same age as the man who had introduced himself as Xander was curled up on one of the sofas, reading a book. She looked up when they entered the room and raising one perfectly plucked eyebrow in his direction, addressed Dawn.

"Hey squirt, who's the hottie?"

Draco sneered and raised an eyebrow right back at her - he'd be damned if he let some uppity Muggle get the better of him.

"Apparently his name's Draco Malfoy, which is actually kinda funny now that I think about it," the girl replied, smiling at him insolently.

"What exactly is it about my name that you find so amusing?" he drawled in a manner that would have most of his year mates at Hogwarts shaking where they stood. Dawn however, just grinned at him and brushed a strand of shoulder length brown hair out of her eyes before answering.

"Your name's French, right? Means Dragon of Bad Faith," here she broke off giggling.

"I fail to see how that is funny," Draco replied, outwardly calm, but seething on the inside. How dare this, this...Muggle mock the Malfoy name!

"She's laughing at me, not you," the dark-haired girl answered, rising from her position on the sofa and walking toward him. She stopped before entering his personal space and cocked her head in his direction, "my name's Faith, you see, and I'm a very bad girl."

Draco's mouth went dry. Tiny as this Muggle girl might be, there was something about the way she moved which made him think that it would be a really bad idea to piss her off, "I…see, I think."

Faith smiled and shrugged, "Whatever. I'm gonna go bug Andrew, anyone want anything?"

"Ask him to make some tea and bring it in here," Xander replied, "we need to call a Scooby meeting."

Twenty minutes later, Draco found himself sitting on a sofa, drinking tea and listening to the conversation around him with ever growing bewilderment. Faith had indeed gone off and returned a while later with a blond boy who stared at him and muttered something about a pike before he introduced himself as Andrew and flopped into a seat next to him. 

Complete with Xander, Faith and Dawn, they were apparently part of a group named the Scooby Gang, a title that made no sense to Draco, and he said so. They explained to him that they were named after a 'cartoon' dog and when he expressed his bewilderment at this, they looked at him oddly for a moment before carrying on with their conversation.

Apparently other members included Buffy Summers and some people called Giles and Willow, though Draco could not begin to hazard a guess as to who they might be. He thought the names strange and the mode of conversation off-putting and at time he found himself totally confused.

The biggest problem, he found whilst listening to Dawn and Xander explain to Andrew and Faith about him, was that he did not know whether he should be pretending to understand because a Muggle would, or that it was alright not to understand because it was this particular group of people who were confusing.

So, more often than not, he found himself nodding inanely, not knowing whether it was the right thing to do or not. On top of everything else, the blond Muggle seemed to have elected him as his new friend and kept chattering at him and touching his leg. 

Draco was feeling immensely put upon. He was wondering whether he would be given his own room and what the chances were that it might lock from the inside, when he noticed that everyone seemed to be looking at him.

"Excuse me?"

"Xander asked who the relative was that sent you to Buffy," Andrew simpered at him, in a manner freakishly reminiscent of Pansy Parkinson.

Draco blinked at him and turned to answer Xander's question, edging away a little from the strange blond.

"I've never met him; he was a relative on my mother's side apparently. She…she died a few days ago and they sent me here because she said something about him in her will. His name was William Black apparently and…what?" he broke off, glaring at Dawn who had spit her tea halfway across the room upon mentioning the name. Faith and Xander looked surprised and Andrew whispered something that sounded like 'he's alive Frodo'. Draco decided to just ignore everything he said from now on.

"Did you know him?" he asked curiously, as he had never heard of the man before two days ago in Minister Fudge's office.

"Yeah, we knew Spi…William," Xander answered, hesitating for a moment; "he was a… uhm…friend of Buffy's and lived with us in Sunnydale for a while. He, er…died last year in a gas explosion."

He'd probably been a Squib, Draco decided, which would explain both why he'd never heard of him and why something like a gas explosion had killed him. Still, this did not explain why his mother had insisted on sending him to this man, when she surely must have known he associated with Muggles. Why send him to a Squib when he had a cousin and another aunt other than Bellatrix Lestrange in the wizarding world? Draco knew that his mother and Andromeda and Nymphadora Tonks never spoke, but surely it would make more sense to be sent to even a blood traitor than a Squib? There was something not right about this whole thing.

"When did your mother write this will, Draco?" Xander asked him, careful not to meet his eyes.

Draco frowned, "About twelve years ago I think." There was no question, she had written the will several weeks after Bellatrix was arrested and thrown into Azkaban for torturing the Longbottoms. Whatever it was Xander had expected him to answer, that was not it, as he and Faith exchanged troubled glances. Seeing, that he noticed the look that passed between them, Faith added, "We only met him a couple of years ago."

Draco was about to ask her what a relative of his had been doing in America, when a loud crash coming from the back of the house interrupted him.

"Aw shit," Faith groaned, "no rest for the wicked. I'd better go sort the kids out before they wreck the garden."

"Kids?" Draco asked, making no effort to hide the scorn in his voice.

"We run a martial arts school for young girls," Andrew volunteered, nearly bouncing at the thought of being useful, "a handful are here at the house training all year round and there are more facilities being developed all around the world. Faith's ex-boyfriend Robin runs one of our chapters in Cleveland together with Vi and Rona. They're friends," he added off Draco's blank look.

"Willow and Kennedy are in Brazil looking for more members and Giles is in Uzbekistan trying to recruit more teachers. But they'll all be back soon, so you'll get to meet them," he added, nearly squealing with excitement, "you'll love Giles; he's very handsome and distinguished as well as being English like you. And Willow and Kennedy are the cutest thing together, although I think Kennedy could do with washing her hair more often."

Throughout this speech, Draco could do nothing but stare at him in horror. If he were back at Hogwarts, he'd have Crabbe and Goyle hang Andrew upside down off the Astronomy Tower to teach him a valuable lesson about addressing his betters in a non-sensical fashion, but no, surrounded by Muggles there was nothing for him to do but grin and bear it.

"Is there somewhere I could go to lie down?" he asked Dawn, who had been observing his one-sided conversation with Andrew, weakly, "I think I'm getting a headache."

"Of course," she answered, picking up one of his bags before he could stop her, "come on, there are plenty of spare rooms, I'm sure we can find one you'll like."


	4. A Scooby Interlude

_Dear Ms. Summers,_

I am sorry not to be able to convey this news to you in person; however, due to pressing business matters, I could not spare the time to deal with this matter personally. Nevertheless, I have the utmost confidence that my subordinates will deal with this delicate affair in professional manner, tailored to suit both your needs and ours.  
You have no doubt by now met Mr. Draco Malfoy and it is indeed he about whom I have the pleasure of writing to you today. Mr. Malfoy, the only son of a very prominent family in the community I find myself in charge of, recently suffered bereavement in the form of his mother. Narcissa Malfoy, a lady of both class and style, shall be sorely missed by all, and I have no doubt that had you known her as I, you too would have grieved for the loss of such a jewel amongst women. Sadly, Mr. Malfoy's father is currently unable to take custody of his child and the late Mrs. Malfoy's Last Will and Testament stated quite clearly that in the event of the incapacitation of both parents, the care of Mr. Malfoy should fall to a distant member of her family. I believe you were at one point acquainted with this person and I would like to take this moment to offer you my most heartfelt condolences on the passing of Mr. William Black. While I did not have the pleasure of knowing Mr. Black myself, I have no doubt that he was an upstanding citizen and indeed feel that Mrs. Malfoy's actions in leaving the care of her only child to him speak volumes about his character. As I have mentioned, it has come to my attention that Mr. Black is regrettably enough no longer amongst the living, however, I have similarly been informed that he, before his untimely demise, left notice that upon death, all his earthly possessions should be transferred to your name, and have taken the liberty to count young Master Malfoy amongst these. It is therefore with great pleasure that I grant you custody of Mr. Draco Malfoy until such time as he reaches his seventeenth birthday and trust that you will take good care of him. Enclosed with this letter are copies of both Mr. Black and Mrs. Malfoy's Testament's.  
No doubt you still have a great many questions, and with your permission, I have taken the liberty of arranging a meeting at nine am the morning following your reception of this letter, where any questions you might still have on this matter will be dutifully answered. I regret that once more that I will be unable to attend, and hope that we will have the pleasure of meeting one day.

With best wishes and sincere gratitude,  
Cornelius Fudge  


"So, what do we all think?" Xander asked the makeshift Scooby Gang who had gathered in the Rectory living room to hear the contents of the mysterious letter to them, "Demon? Monster? Horrible Squid-type alien from Mars?"

"I think your English accent sucks!" remarked Dawn ever tactfully, "You made that Fudge guy sound totally constipated."

"I think Draco looks just like Spike!" gushed Andrew, enthusiastically ignoring the girl seated next to him, "you can totally see they're related, they even have the same super cool hair colour!"

Rolling her eyes, Dawn exerted valuable energy reaching from her place on the sofa to hit Andrew over the head with a pillow, "Spike used to bleach his hair, you moron. That wasn't his natural colour."

"It wasn't?" Andrew asked, sounding puzzled. He frowned mildly before announcing, "It was still super cool!"

Ignoring the squeaky voiced annoyance to his right, Xander had to concede that there was a certain resemblance between his second least favourite vampire and the pointy-faced boy currently scowling to himself in a bedroom on the third floor. It was not overly pronounced, but Xander had noticed a hint of Spike in the angles on the pale boy's face. It made sense, he supposed, for two people who were from the same family while being several generations apart.

Frowning slightly, Xander wished that he was not the only senior Scooby member present. Two years after the fall of Sunnydale, and he was still not comfortable with taking an active leadership role, which was one of the reasons he why he shared the responsibility of training the Slayers at Stretham Rectory with Faith.

To be honest, initially neither he nor the dark haired Slayer had been comfortable with the idea of working so closely together, there was a definite amount of unsavoury history between the two and neither were the type to talk about their feelings – least of all to each other. Over time however, Xander had come to realise that as long as she and Buffy were not in the same country or preferably the same continent, Faith could actually be quite a pleasant person, and while she had turned out to be surprisingly competent at dealing with the baby Slayers, Xander couldn't help but wish that Giles were here.

Shrugging mentally, Xander returned to the world at large, only to catch the tail-end of yet another Andrew/Dawn catfight. Those two had been at each other's throats for months now and secretly Xander had to admit to being surprised at Andrew's stamina, he honestly hadn't expected the blond boy to be able to take as much crap as he got from Dawn on a day to day basis.

"…well, I still think he's evil. We'll probably all be murdered in our beds and sold for spare parts or something, but if you don't want to listen to me that's fine, just don't come crying to me when you're all dead and mankified, and be surprised when all you get is a 'I told you so'!" Dawn finished ranting with a toss of her head.

Andrew's only reply to Dawn's supernatural teenage drama was to stick out his tongue at her, squealing in pain only moments later when the pillow she aimed at his head caused him to bite the tip.

Ignoring Andrews's pleas for help and mercy, Xander turned to ignore both squabblers and quietly asked Faith's opinion.

"I dunno, kid seems alright other than being kinda skitterish. I didn't sense anything demony about him, but…" here she trailed off looking thoughtful.

"But?" Xander asked.

"Well, this whole 'Will' thing sure seems suspicious. Why would anyone leave their kid to Spike of all people?" she answered, looking Xander in the eye.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. Not only that, but if the kid's mother wrote the Will when he said she did, Spike would still have been unrepentantly evil, what with it being a couple of years before he first came to Sunnydale and all."

"Do you think she knew he was a vampire?" Dawn asked, looking shocked and a little frightened, "In the Will she referred to Spike by his real name, the one he died under. If she knew enough about him to know that they were related, or even met him…" here she trailed off looking horrified.

"She can't have known," Andrew added quietly, suddenly serious, "leaving her child to the mercy of a bloodlusting Vampyre…especially one with Spike's reputation…no one would do that."

Dawn nodded emphatically, but Xander wasn't so sure, and from the looks of it, Faith agreed with him. If there was one thing the years of living in Sunnydale had taught him, evil took innumerable guises and nothing was ever as simple as it seemed. Once more he wished that Giles or Willow were here to tell him what to do. 

"Ok," he said, rubbing the bridge of this nose nervously, "here's what I think. Dawn and Andrew should start researching Draco's family and find out everything they can about what Spike was doing around about the time that Will was written. I'm gonna try to get in touch with Giles and see if he can give us any advice. In the meantime we should all keep an eye on the kid. Be nice by all means, but maybe not trust him too much. Who knows, if we're lucky he might turn out to be a brain-sucking squid-monster yet."

"What about Buffy," asked Dawn, "who's gonna tell her?"

"Well Dawnie," Xander replied, fondly ruffling the girl's hair, "since you ask…you do! This time, try not to insult her aging boy-toy before you give her the good news. We wouldn't want her to hang up before she gets the message, would we. What you do after is your business."

"I don't think we should tell the junior Slay-brigade," Faith added, "they're gonna be keyed up enough about there being fresh meat…fresh MALE meat…as it is. No need to rile them up by telling them the kid might be evil. The excitement'll probably just kill them."

"Yeah, and him too," Andrew agreed, nodding brightly.


	5. Culture Clash

I'd like to give a big thank you to all my reviewers. You guys are fantastic and I want to just thank you of your continued tolerance with my erratic up-dates. I really hope to have chapter six up within the next two weeks. Meanwhile, this chapter has been edited for an extreme error I noticed the other day.

Incidentally, since having read HBP, I was toying with the idea of rewriting the entire story, but in the end decided not to. Therefore, this story should be considered AU.

Upon opening his eyes, Draco saw green.

For a split second he wondered what he was doing back in the Slytherin Dormitory and whether perhaps the last few days had been nothing more than a terrible nightmare. Unfortunately, the illusion only lasted for a few heartbeats before the events of the previous day came rushing back and Draco couldn't help but groan with frustration and disgust.

He was at Stretham Rectory, his mother was dead, his father was in Azkaban and he was surrounded by Muggles.

Draco groaned once more for good measure and burrowed his head under a pillow. To top it all off, the stupid Muggles had given him cotton sheets. Cotton! Even at Hogwarts, the house elves had been careful to supply him only with silk sheets.

At least his new room was green, as small a blessing that might have been, Draco wasn't sure if he could have survived undressing whilst surrounded by Gryffindor colours.

The Muggle girl…what was her name again…Dawn had led him along a hallway and up several flights of stairs before they came to the Rectory guest quarters. Dawn explained that as well as the permanent residents, there were usually around ten or so trainees in occupation and as a result, it was necessary for the Rectory to boast several unoccupied guestrooms at all times.

She showed him a number of rooms he found to be deeply unsatisfactory - one of them was painted bright pink for Merlin's sake - before settling for this chamber which came with its own bathroom, a necessity, Dawn had assured him, when living with several teenaged girls.

The room was rather small, but painted a deep unassuming shade of green with mahogany furniture to match. A painting of a forest scene hung opposite the bed, and Draco had found himself staring at it several times the previous night, troubled by the unmoving deer depicted in it. Intellectually speaking, he knew that Muggle paintings and photographs were not sentient like those in the wizarding world, yet it still unsettled him to see it in reality. The picture seemed to reinforce the feeling of just how far away from home he really was and Draco could not rid himself of the homesickness that had settled in the pit of his stomach.

Draco sighed and rubbed a hand over his closed eyes. He really, really, really wanted to be able to stop thinking, to just…stop. He'd managed to get rid of Dawn the previous night by feigning a headache and had busied himself by neatly packing away his belongings, avoiding the Muggles and studying the rest of the day, but now there was nothing for him to do other than a particularly dull History of Magic essay he would rather like to avoid as long as possible, and there was nothing to take his mind of his own misery.

He had at first been reluctant to unpack his belongings, preferring rather to keep them in his trunk in order to postpone having to admit to himself that his new position might be permanent. However, in the end practicality and Draco's obsession for neatness won out, resulting in the neatly hung clothes in the closet and the picture of his mother under his pillow. He wished her were able to placed the framed photo on his nightstand, but didn't want to risk any stray Muggles noticing the moving picture.

Draco sighed once more and pulled the photo out from under his pillow. His mother was looking solemn and perfect as always, hardly moving whilst seemingly staring into the distance. Narcissa noticed her son staring longingly and graced him with a lopsided smile. Hastily, Draco stuffed the picture back under his pillow and screwed his eyelids shut, but it was no use, he could still feel the inevitable tears pooling.

Just as he was about to start feeling very sorry for himself indeed, a shout sounded outside his window. His bedroom was located on the third floor of the Rectory and it faced onto a large, rambling garden. Slipping from beneath his sheets, Draco walked towards his window, but to his chagrin, his room was too high up for him to see what was happing below.

Stretching slightly, he selected a pair of standard black trousers and shirt and made his way into his bathroom. Much to his disgust he had found the previous night that Muggle showers consisted of hot and cold taps one had to adjust manually. While the facilities at Malfoy Manor had not been quite as exotic as the Prefects Bathrooms at Hogwarts, they did still boast an impressive variety of different taps which would supply the user with an assortment of bubbles, lathes and soaps. Not so amongst the Muggles, though Draco supposed he ought to be grateful they washed at all.

After a brief shower, he dressed and combed his hair until he was as immaculately attired as possible. Since fate, or rather the despicable little worm of a minister had decided to throw him to the Muggles, he might as well go to his doom as stylishly as possible. It was his duty as the current representative of the Malfoy clan to present a front of dignity and grace. Gathered his courage and a deep breath, Draco stepped out into the hallway.

Once through his bedroom door, he almost collided with Faith who had apparently been about to knock.

"Morning kiddo," she rasped cheerfully, already striding off along the hallway, apparently on her way back downstairs, "I was just about to come wake you. There are some people here to see you."

For someone so short, Draco thought as he followed the older girl, she's sure got a fair turn of speed. Though he had a good four inches on her in height, and most of those in the way of legs, Faith was sweeping down the hallway with no apparent effort, and at a pace Draco found hard to match without straining.

Halfway down the first flight of stairs, he realised that she had mentioned visitors for him and almost cracked a smile with anticipation. They were probably from the Ministry, which meant they were Wizards.

Real Wizards! People who spoke both sense and the English language! Draco thought that at this point he would probably have been happy to see Fudge…though probably not Weasley. Even in these difficult times, one had to draw the line somewhere.

He restrained himself form skipping down the last couple of steps (a Malfoy never skips), followed Faith into the oval sitting room and nearly wept in relief when he came in sight of Severus Snape and Nymphadora Tonks. They were sitting primly side by side on one of the couches and both seemed to be listening to a chattering Andrew. Nymphadora was regarding the irritating Muggle with open curiosity and something like amusement, while Professor Snape just looked bewildered and a little horrified.

Faith, who had joined Dawn on another sofa, nodded at the man Xander and smiled at Draco in what seemed to be a mixture of encouragement and embarrassment at Andrew's ongoing monologue.

"…always used to say that you can't have enough vegetables in your diet, which I guess probably applies to most life forms, except for maybe Klingons and you know…generally carnivorous creatures, but anyway, I try to serve at least two different forms of vegetably goodness with all meals, and supply an outline of our nutritionally balanced diets for any parents that ask after them," Andrew continued, blissfully unaware of the looks he was receiving, "I find the girls really like it when I make themed foods, like last nights honey-roasted Ewok burgers for example, and we generally all have a good long laugh at the mystery meats."

This pronouncement was met with stony silence by all parties and while Draco could not account for anything the others might have been thinking, he found himself frantically wondering just what exactly it was these people were feeding him.

Andrew seemed to have registered that something was off by the looks he was receiving and gesturing wildly, hurried to make things worse.

"Not that I think there is anything overly mysterious about the meat…uhm, ever, really! I mean, the butcher knows what animals it comes from and he writes the names on these little bits of card and puts them on display next to his wares…it, uh, just wouldn't be good business sense to just have a mumbled pile of meat for you to pick and chose from, besides the whole hygienic aspect…it, it just wouldn't be kosher…so really, there's really no mystery at all."

Shuddering slightly, Xander glared at the hopeful looking Andrew and quite pointedly said, "Yes, thank you Andrew. Feel free to go far, far away now."

With a sneer that spoke volumes on his opinion of the blond Muggle's mental state, Professor Snape tore his gaze from Andrew and focused on his erstwhile ward instead.

"Draco," he said in a tone of voice, which to those that knew him well, almost sounded pleased, "how are you."

"Very well sir," Draco replied gratefully, stepping towards his godfather.

"Wotcher Drakey," Nymphadora grinned and Draco was too relieved to see his godfather to scowl at his mudblood of a cousin for using that deplorable nickname.

"Good," came Snape answered ignoring the bubblegum-pink coiffed Auror, and Draco could not help but notice how out of place his teacher looked in this room, even dressed in Muggle clothing as he was. Nymphadora on the other hand seemed right at home, which Draco supposed made sense, seeing as she was a half-blood.

"Your cousin and I came to see that everything was alright and to answer any…questions your guardians might have," Snape continued, with a sideways glance at Xander which made clear what he thought of the quality of said persons, "but we have been given to understand that Miss Summers is apparently out of the country at the moment."

Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He was feeling an urge to thrown himself at his godfather and clutch at his clothing whilst begging not to be left alone in the company of these savages ever again.

"What I wanna know is," Dawn said before Draco could further acknowledge his godfather's comment, "If you're his cousin and you're his godfather, how come he got sent to us?"

"Not that we aren't happy to have him," Xander added hurriedly, "but you've gotta admit, it seems a little cold to send a kid who's just lost a parent off to live with people he's never met, when there are members of his family willing to have him."

"Believe me Mr. Harris," Snape replied with only a hint of a sneer, "both Ms. Tonks and I tried everything in our power to gain custody of Mr. Malfoy, but unfortunately his late mother's will was airtight and could not be contested. Despite our most vehement protests, the Ministry decided to overrule what personal connections either of us have to the boy and instead sent him to you. I believe I can state quite unequivocally that none of us are pleased with this arrangement."

"Wait, yo," Faith cut in disbelievingly, "are you saying the government set this up? What the hell man, I thought Child Services messed me about when I was a kid, but he shouldn't be put in foster care when there's like, family and shit to take him in! That's totally messed up!"

"I quite agree, Miss Lehane," came the Potions Master's sardonic reply, "the Minister however did not."

"That's another thing," Dawn added out, "that ginger dude who dropped Blondie off yesterday was totally rude! He like, tricked me into signing those papers and ran away! Who does that?"

Snape paused momentarily, no doubt inwardly translating the American's babble, before raising his eyebrow at Draco in an unspoken question.

"It's true sir," Draco responded to his godfather's prompt, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the memory, "The Weasel made himself scarce as soon as possible."

"Pft, that Percy is a little rotter alright. I don't know how any son of Arthur and Molly's turned out to be such a priggish coward," Nymphadora harrumphed before adding in what Draco assumed was an attempt to reassure him, "I'll…er…contact the twins and have them send him one of their new specialities…it'll serve him right, just abandoning you like that."

Spare me you stupid cow, thought Draco, as if you actually care. He was willing to bet several gallons that Tonks and her mudblood loving entourage had no doubt had a good long laugh about his current predicament.

"I have a question," Xander addressed Snape, and Draco noticed he seemed to have been reading a copy of his mother's Will, "According to this Will, Draco's mother met did you know William…Black at all?"

"No, I can't say I had the pleasure," the Potions Master replied pronouncing the last word with exquisite care, as if it were a word he had not spoken in years.

"What about you?" Faith asked Nymphadora, and Draco could not help but notice the odd look she was exchanging with Xander, "You're family, right? You ever meet him?"

"Nah," his cousin replied, "never even heard of him before Aunt Narcissa…er…yeah. I checked the Black tapestry and he's not on it as far as I can see, but that doesn't really mean anything, 'cos hey, I'm not either."

Draco could tell from the Muggles vacant expressions that this meant nothing to them and almost snorted in disgust. Bloody animals, had they never heard of family tapestries before? He directed his gaze back towards his cousin, in an attempt to hide his thinly veiled contempt, but her cheery countenance only served to anger him further.

"So, you don't know how they might have met or known each other," Xander persisted.

"No," Professor Snape answered with a raised brow, "does it matter?"

"Oh, not really," Dawn surprised Draco by answering offhandedly, "it's just that he was one of several friends who died two years ago and we've been hoping to write some online memoirs of all the Sunnydale victims…you know, a kind of biography on who they were, what they did in their lives, that sort of thing. It would help to get input from families and we were hoping you guys might have, like, amusing childhood stories or uhm…embarrassing baby pictures, just personal stuff like that."

"How is it you not possess such insight into Mr. Black?" Snape asked, and Draco thought he could detect a real hint of curiosity in his question, "Given that he left all his possessions to Ms. Summers, we assumed that you would be able to provide us with some information about him."

"We kinda explained to Draco yesterday that we only met Sp…William about seven years ago, and he was always pretty selective about the stuff he'd tell us about his past," Xander explained, "he was…closer to Buffy than most of us, and even the stuff he told her has to be…er, taken in context."

"You mean to say that he was a liar," Snape suggested.

"Well," Xander answered, squirming uncomfortably, "yeah. But you have to understand, we never liked each other and I'm really not the person you should ask for an impartial account of his character. Dawnie probably knew him better than anyone other than maybe Buffy…and even she will agree that the guy was totally full of himself."

Dawn nodded sadly, "That doesn't mean that he wasn't still a cool guy. He was kinda my babysitter for a while and we used to hang out and just talk, you know? He didn't treat me like a kid, like everyone else did. I mean, I know he was probably just doing it to get in Buff's pants but he was still my best friend and…do you guys want to see a picture?"

Before anyone could answer, she jumped out of her seat and made for the stairs.

"She was probably about to cry," Andrew informed everyone, and was rewarded with a glare by Xander and Faith for his helpfulness.


	6. Trials and Tribulations

**CHAPTER FIVE**  
Trials and Tribulations

Draco was feeling jumpy.

After Dawn's somewhat abrupt departure, the atmosphere in the living room had quickly transformed into one of uncomfortable silence, with Faith and Xander alternately glaring at Andrew, and Nymphadora grinning stupidly at her surroundings.

"I wonder whether I might have a word with Mr Malfoy in private," Snape finally suggested in a voice that brooked no room for argument, and as a result, Xander had Andrew show them a way through the house that lead to a door onto a terracotta paved terrace.

Draco could not decide whether he should be feeling nervous or hopeful and decided to settle for a combination of the two. Though he had never heard his parents say so specifically, Draco knew that his Potions Professor was a member of Voldemort's Deatheaters.

As such, he wondered what exactly his godfather thought of the situation he currently found himself in. Surely, any minute now he would divulge a plan that would include Draco's speedy removal from all things gross and Muggle-y, wouldn't he? He had heard what his godfather had said about being unable to contest either his mother's will or the Ministers decision, but such things would not limit a Deatheater now, would they? Surely a Deatheater would spit in the face of legality, and mock the very laws he was stomping all over. At least, that was what Draco was hoping, Having had no breakfast, he was becoming decidedly peckish but had promised himself after Andrew's earlier outburst that he would never again let any morsel bought, prepared by or so much as looked at by the mad Muggle touch his lips. In fact, he quite fancied one of Florian Fortesque's famous ice-cream sundaes at this moment, so if his godfather would just hurry up and apparate him and all his belongings out of here and back to Diagon Alley, he might even be able to find it with in his heart to feel something like gratitude.

oOo

Back in the living room, Tonks was having the time of her life. Before appearing at Stretham Rectory, Severus and herself had spent a good hour throwing together a game plan on how best to approach the Draco/Summers debacle, and after much sniping back and forth, they had agreed that Snape would get the boy alone and give him a good talking to while Tonks herself spun a convincing yarn to feed the Muggles.

As her father was non-magic in origins himself, she had over the years had plenty of opportunity to familiarise herself with the workings of the Muggle mind, and while some things like roller-skating and the Backstreet Boys were still a complete mystery to her, she did pride herself on knowing enough about Muggles to be able to lie convincingly to them. In this case she really was the best man for the job, - though Snape was a half-blood in his own right, he was in all fairness completely socially retarded when it came to dealing with people in a non-threatening manner and would no doubt only have been a hindrance in this situation.

oOo

Severus Snape made no secret of the fact that he intensely disliked people - in fact, one might say that he had built a successful career on it. Having said this, he did – somewhere in the foul neverpits of hell one might call his heart (but only for lack of a better word) - feel a sort of fondness for his godson – arrogant, spoilt and generally vile as he might be. It was after all not entirely the boy's fault that he had the people's skills of a three day dead jellyfish, - with parents like Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, a contemptible personality was rather to be expected.

And so it was that although whenever in his presence for longer than five minutes, - the hands of one Professor Snape itched to take his wand to Draco Malfoy's backside and give him what-for, he now found himself in the unenviable position of telling the child that he would not be returning to his home – his world – for the foreseeable future.

"The little rotter's going to throw a tantrum like no other, I can see it already," thought Snape, and sighing gently he once again envied Nymphadora the relatively simple task of lying to a bunch of Muggles. 

Shrugging mentally, he turned his attention to his godson, and saw with some relief that the boy appeared slightly less sulky than he had previously anticipated. In fact, he seemed to be quietly and politely awaiting judgment. "Maybe this whole Muggle thing might not be such a bad idea," pondered Snape, mentally seizing Draco up, "A few months in the company of a group of people who don't know about the name of Malfoy might actually do him some good. Confound Dumbledore, that old fox, I bet the silly old bugger counts on it."

Turning his back on his godson, and pondering this line of thought under the pretence of 'admiring' the Rectory garden – littered with what appeared to be vaguely human shaped dummies fashioned from wood and straw as it was - Snape finally spoke.

"Draco…the Dark Lord has issued orders for you to be initiated as a Deatheater. Seeing as your father remains in Azkhaban and your mother was never initiated into the ranks of the Deatheaters, and as the Malfoys have always been amongst his staunchest supporters, the duty seemingly falls to you to assume the mantle of the head of the Malfoy clan. Before you say anything, I want to be perfectly candid with you."

Here Professor Snape paused, and though his back was still turned, Draco had the feeling that his teacher was struggling with himself before he continued.

"You must remain here until you turn seventeen, that much is clear. Before your departure from the Ministry, a very sophisticated tracking charm was placed upon you, which will activate itself and inform Aurors should you be removed from your new guardians custody for a period exceeding twenty-four hours. Since Ms. Summers appears to be absent at the moment, this charm has been extended to include Mr. Harris and Ms. Lehane. Clearly, you will have to remain here until you become of age," here Severus turned to face his dejected looking charge and attempted to impress upon him the importance of his new position, "Draco, I know these circumstances are loath to you and that the last week in particular has been more than difficult, but I ask you to properly consider the position you now find yourself in. You have several months at your disposal before you return to Hogwarts, in which you will in essence be the master of your own fate. Other than your cousin and myself, only the Ministry knows of your current whereabouts. I would like to ask you to use this time to properly reflect upon what you want from your future. Do not rush into anything simply because you feel that it is expected of you. Use this time to think about choices. You are a Slytherin, Draco. We are pragmatists by nature. That is all."

oOo

Meanwhile, Nymphadora Tonks was busy lying her little multicoloured heart out. Between Severus, Dumbledore and herself, they had managed to come up with what they thought of as a passable cover story for Draco's lack of knowledge and blatant disrespect for all things Muggle. Or so they thought. In reality, convincing these young people that Draco lacked all knowledge of washing machines because his family had been part of a community made up of followers of a radical new religious sect which eschewed amongst many other things most forms of modern technology, proved to be slightly more complicated than she would have expected.

"So, let me see if I got this straight," Xander said sounding more and more bewildered, "Draco has never used a pen or toasters, been to the cinema, gone on the underground, eaten a hamburger or used a light switch because his family believed that plastic and all it's derivatives amongst other things rot brains and make your toenails fall out." He finished, looking at his companions in a plea for support, but they seemed as puzzled as he himself was.

"That's right," Tonks nodded helpfully.

"And you were brought up in the same community until one day you were rescued by an Estate agent with a white Mercedes and Vertigo, and he taught you the joys of scrabble and microwave popcorn and offered you steady employment as a manicurist in a swanky up-town boutique. And now you want your cousin to have the same opportunity."

"Yup," Tonks agreed cheerfully, - she was particularly proud of that part since she'd made it up herself. She was of the opinion that it was the little details that mattered. Though her mother had married a Muggle, Tonks had been brought up mainly in the Wizarding World, and had amassed knowledge of the Muggle World mainly through snatches of TV programs she had as a child watched at her grandparent's house.  
Having said that, she couldn't help but think that as far as cover stories went, perhaps this particular one might be a little lacking.

"I'm gonna take a stand for sanity and say that's officially weird. Does anyone else think it's weird? Don't say anything, Andrew." The one-eyed man added, glaring at the simpering blond who was bouncing in his seat, only to deflate somewhat at the last remark, "Faith, help me out here?"

"We're in England, yo, 'far as I'm concerned they're all wacked around here. This is all weird to me, though I gotta say it sure explains the way Giles acts computers. So this kid's parents were kinda crazy. Honestly, I've heard stranger stories."

The dark young man seemed to remain unconvinced, and not for the first time, Tonks wished they could simply tell these Muggles the truth about the existence of the Wizarding World.

However, she knew that this was at the moment at least more than impossible. Judging by the reaction of the families of many Muggleborn students, they could not tell these people – nice and harmless as they appeared – that Draco was a Wizard.

Who knew what the consequences would be, and annoying as her cousin no doubt could be, Tonks was in no hurry to see him burnt at the stake. Why, hadn't the Dursleys locked Harry in a cupboard while he was growing up? And they were his family! These American Muggles had no such familial obligations to Draco.

No, it would be better all around if these Muggles knew nothing about Draco's abilities. And there was no reason why they should find out. All and any of Draco's oddities (except for perhaps his personality) could now be blamed on the fact that his parents had been religious fanatics, and though her cousin no doubt had many faults, stupidity was not one of them. Once he managed to force himself to overcome his aversion to Muggles enough to learn how to function in their world, he ought to pick it all up pretty quickly. Dumbledore had assured her that for someone so hideously inbred, Draco actually had quite the nimble brain on him and occasionally even chose to use it. Still, Tonks couldn't help but think that leaving Draco in a Muggle household, eighty percent of which appeared to be made up of hormonally challenged teenage girls, might just be a recipe for disaster.

oOo

Once Xander, Faith and Andrew had had a chance to acclimatize themselves to the idea that Draco had never seen the X-Files before, said boy and his godfather re-entered the living room.

To Tonks, Snape appeared as impassive as ever, but Draco looked pale and even more subdued than he had been earlier. The Muggles appeared to be heeding the request Tonks had expressed earlier, for them not to highlight Draco's ignorance about technology as she had explained it might make him feel self-conscious and were instead talking carefully around him.

Tonks herself was of the opinion that it would take something more like a repeated stunning charm to the genitals to make Draco feel self-conscious, but what did she know, the boy had just lost his mother after all, and theoretically at least it might be possible for a leopard to change his spots. Temporarily, at least.

While Tonks was pursuing this line of thought and others like it, Dawn had made her way back downstairs and entering the living room, crossed immediately to Draco.

Her eyes were slightly red and it seemed her nose was runny so all it seemed Andrew had been right and she really did run away to have a good cry. 

Under different circumstances, Draco would no doubt have sneered at her, if it weren't for his mind reeling after his recent conversation with his godfather. So, instead, he merely looked startled and took the object she held directly out towards him, as if daring him to snub her.

It turned out to be a black and white Muggle photograph of a young man with white blond hair, a leather coat and a sneer to die for. He was standing in front of a stone monument and seemed to be looking through the camera and directly at the photographer, one eyebrow raised as if in warning. Draco was secretly amazed at how life like the picture seemed, unmoving as it was. He stared at it for a few moments before tearing his eyes away.

"I took that a couple of weeks before Sunnydale collapsed," Dawn explained as Draco passed the picture to his godfather. "The new po…students were doing my head in and Buffy wouldn't let me go outside by myself, so he took me out and we went and got some ice-cream and sat in Restfield Cemetery and he told me stories about England."

"I remember that," Xander replied, motioning for Dawn to come sit between him and Faith, which she did. He put his arm round the girl and added as if solely for her benefit, "Just after you guys started being friends again. Buffy went spare when she heard you guys had gone out by yourselves."

"Yeah, she did," Dawn agreed nodding sadly, "I miss him."

Xander merely sighed and hugged her closer, and something told Draco that he had disliked his uncle more than a little strongly.

"You can keep that if you want," Dawn addressed Draco, and he merely nodded in reply.

oOo

Sometime later, after Snape and Tonks had returned safely to Hogwarts to report to the Headmaster and Draco lay in his bed, alternately sulking and mourning his lot, Faith, Dawn, Andrew and Xander had assembled around the large marble countertop in the kitchen and were discussing the day's events.

"What in the name of all that is holy is going on here?" Xander burbled, not looking overly amused. Sure, the lot of jokester and comic relief extraordinaire no doubt fell to him when the entire Scooby Gang was assembled, but out here only he and Faith were in charge, and that meant that on occasion he had to offer the world a grim visage. Such a time was now. "Is anyone else confused? 'Cos I am. Very very very confused. Since when are alien squid monsters allergic to plastic?"

"Well," Andrew butted in in his trademark nasal whine, "We never actually established that Draco was an alien or a squid…it was just one of many options...and yeah, so they all seem a little odd, but the Professor at least was very distinguished…" here Andrew drifted off, looking misty eyed

"Oh please," came Xander's response, "Did everybody else fail to notice that the pink lady's back-story came straight out of the last five minutes of 'Pretty Woman'? Hello! They're definitely evil. I vote, we wait 'til the Draco is asleep and then sneak into the little pasty bugger's room and chop his head off while he's not looking. I mean…Tonks or whatever mentioned him not being able to use a pen in the same breath as making sure to remind him to do all his homework. How? Psychically? Via smoke signal? I don't get it. Faith, back me up here…you're ready to get with the hacking and slashing, right?"

The dark haired Slayer shifted uncomfortably for a second before answering, "I kinda think we should hold off and research a bit," off Xander's pseudo-hysterically whisperer: "Oh caramba, they got to her too!" she added, "Giles will be back the day after tomorrow, he'll know where to start looking for answers. 'Til then, I reckon we should all read up on English demons, squid monsters form outer space and keep the kid away from sharp or pointy objects. Agreed?"

Various mumbles of assent could be heard floating through the kitchen and peace once more settled over Streatham Rectory. For a little while at least, or until Dawn found out that one of the currently jogging Potentials was wearing her underwear.


	7. Unhappily Ever After

Upon the departure of his godfather and cousin, Draco had headed straight up to 'his' room and stayed there for the rest of the day. He tried to avoid all the other inhabitants of Stretham Rectory as if they had the Plague and did not even bother to leave the confines of his room for mealtimes. Eating while surrounded by a bunch of Muggles held about as much charm as a day spent scraping dried flobberworm remains off the desks in the Potion's classroom.

The remainder of Draco's time was spent in bed, wrapped up tightly in the blankets he had been provided with. His attempts at remaining detached and polite in the face of both Muggles and Wizards alike were haphazard at best, and the truth of the matter was that Draco was feeling utterly overrun and not a little heartsick. So, instead of feeling awkward in the company of what he deemed his social and racial inferiors, Draco simply declined to leave his room and wallowed in homesickness.

Even with his father's current incarceration and his late mother's inability to project affection onto anything larger than a diamond bangle, he had always felt cared for at Malfoy Manor. On reflection, this might have had something to do with the fact that at any moment, he had the support of a veritable flotilla of house elves at his very beck and call, but home was home…and this was not.

Determined as he was to disparage everything and anything to do with Muggles, mudbloods, bloodtraitors and, just for safety's sake ginger people all around the world, Draco was forced to admit to himself that residence at Malfoy Manor would have been less than pleasant, empty and hollow as it had been in the time he had spent there after his mother's death. Living at the Manor, all on his own would have been like settling in for a long wait in a custom-made mausoleum.

Grimacing with aggravation at such thoughts, Draco snuggled deeper under the duvet covers, wondering idly whether it was possible for a person to suffocate in such manner and just how long it would take. Feeling inexplicably comfortable and safe in the little cave he had fashioned from his blankets, Draco pulled the pictures of his mother and uncle from where he had stashed them under his pillows.

People usually remarked upon the pronounced resemblance Draco carried to his father, but having said that, he recognize a resemblance to William Black in both his and his mother's features. Not for the first time, he wondered just how closely he was related to this man. His mother and aunt Bellatrix had never mentioned having a brother, which should not have been all that surprising, considering how the pureblooded Wizards tended to deal with Squib offspring. Nevertheless, Draco could not help but feel that had his father known about a non-magical son in the noble House of Black, none of them would ever have ceased to hear about it. And Lucius Malfoy had a way of ferreting out people's dirty little secrets.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock at his bedroom door. Not waiting for his permission, the offender entered his room.

"We missed you at breakfast this morning," came the voice Draco recognised as belonging to Faith. Other than the four Muggles he had met on his first day here, Draco had not bothered to learn the names of the countless teenage girls that seemed to roam this place, giggling and whispering to each other every time they saw him.

"Not hungry," he mumbled, still safely entrenched under his blankets, and hoping that she would take the hint and bugger off. It was disgustingly rude for her to be in here without his express invitation in the first place, never mind that the house so conveniently belonged to her and her mudblood friends. She did not answer, and just as Draco began to hope that she might have left, he felt a weight settle at the foot of his bed.

"You can stay up here and sulk all you want, but sooner or later you're gonna get hungry and then you'll have to come down," she commented cheerfully, seemingly unaware of her complete lack of decorum. Draco ignored her and began mentally reciting potions ingredients in an attempt to block her out. Moments later, he felt a sharp pain in his side. The infernal woman was _poking_ him! So shocked was he by her utter lack of manners, that Draco actually emerged from beneath his nest of blankets.

"'M not sulking," he glared at her petulantly.

"Sure you are," she replied grinned at him, halting her finger in mid air, "I teach teenage girls for a living, remember? I know the signs. Staying in your room all day, growling at people, scowling when they trespass on your territory or wish you a pleasant day - they're all classic signs of a good sulk."

Draco glared and hoped she would get the point and leave. If looks could kill, Faith would have spontaneously combusted by now.

"Aw, and now you're pouting. It'd be almost cute really; if I didn't know for a fact that your uncle owned the patent on that look. "

Caught between mild interest at hearing more about his mysterious relative, and disdain at a mudblood on his sheets, Draco closed his eyes and decided to count to twenty. Maybe by the time he opened them again, this annoying person would have left.

No such luck.

"Xander said we should leave you up here to wallow in your self pity 'til you get bored, but I reckon he has the wrong end of it. I think you want to bond with us, you're just too shy."

"Shy? Shy! Malfoy's aren't shy! It's simply impossible for me to associate with you…people!" All the anger at his current situation, that had been bubbling beneath the surface ever since he learnt of his mother's death burst to the foreground and Draco was free to splutter his protests at the dark haired young woman who was now smirking widely at him, "Let's be very clear on this, I don't want us to _bond_. I don't want to know anything about you, or about your disgusting little friends, or about the stupid things you get up to in your disgraceful little hovel. I don't want to share my feelings, I don't want to get to know you and most of all, I don't want to be here! So kindly get the fuck out and leave me alone! And stop fucking grinning at me!"

Never had he wanted to hex a person so much as at that very moment, confronted as he was by the smug little smile gracing Faith's features, as if this outburst had been exactly what she wanted from him.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're looking at?" he now started to scream at her in seriousness and Draco would have been quite horrified to note how truly unattractive he looked at that moment, with his face screwed up and splotchy red.

"I hate you, and I hate all your stupid little friends and I wish you'd all just -" Draco's tirade was abruptly cut short by the strong hand clapped over his mouth.

Momentarily shocked at the woman's audacity to go so far as to touch him, he merely boggled at Faith over the top of her hand. The normally easy going brunette was glaring back at Draco with an expression so fierce that somewhere in the back of his skull, untouched by rage and bigotry, tiny warning bells began to ring. Therefore, instead of pulling out his wand and hexing her five ways to Sunday - Under-age Wizardry Restrictions be damned – Draco stopped struggling and stayed quiet as Faith shoved her face closer to his.

"Let's get something straight between the two of us boyo," she hissed, and Draco could have sworn that every single hair on his body was standing to attention, "The other's may all be nice easy going people who'll cut you slack and bend over when you feel like kicking them, but I am not nice so you'd better listen to what I'm about to say to you. I don't know who you think you are and I don't particularly care. Your name and your family don't mean two shit's to me and that's final. I know you've been going through some rough stuff with your mom and all, but you're not the first person to lose someone and you sure as hell aren't going to be the last. It isn't our fault and it's not our problem. You're here because we were asked for help, so the least you can do is try and act like a person instead of walking around all snooty like and turning up your nose at everybody. I'm not asking to be to get all buddy buddy and braid hair with the rest of the girlies, but while you're staying in this house, you'll behave like a human being and give the Iceprince McScowlalot act a fucking rest." Here she removed her hand and sat back on the best, still staring straight at Draco, who's jaw was by now roughly situated around his ankles. He honestly could not remember the last time anyone had dared to speak to him like this.

Unfortunately, it seemed like Faith was not yet done, "I'm glad I've finally got your attention, blondie," she said without a trace of humour in her raspy voice, getting up from the bed and moving towards the door "Now get out of bed and take a shower, you and me are gonna go to the market."

Draco could only nod, so lost was he for words. He was about to breathe a sigh of relief that Faith had left his room, when she stuck her head around the door jamb, "One last thing…I ever hear you wish something nasty on my friends again, and you and I'll have a much shorter and far more painful conversation. Now get dressed. You've got exactly fifteen minutes or I'll come back up and drag you outside." With that, she was finally gone, leaving Draco in a horrified stupor.

Merlin, he thought stupidly before gathering himself and rushing into the shower, that woman made McGonagall on the war path seem like a fluffy little kitten! Some things were simply not worth losing limbs over, and Draco felt uncomfortably certain that Faith would have no problem following through on any threat she might chose at any point to make. Fine, he decided as needles of hot water beat mercilessly against his fair skin, he'd go on her stupid outing, he'd even be polite. Polite, but detached. Give her no reason to get angry again and that way she might leave him alone. These Muggles would soon learn that it took more than a scary little woman with powerful lungs to cower a Malfoy.

Slightly more at ease now that he had managed to reassure himself, Draco reached for his bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion which he kept carefully concealed under a stack of towels. If he really was to go out into the Muggle world, he might as well do it armed and looking his most devastatingly handsome best.


	8. Horrors Never Cease

Disclaimer on the first page. Spoilers are through all of BtVS &AtS and the first five HP books.

o o o

**Horrors Never Cease**

o o o

It was with great hesitation that Draco got into Faith's car.

This in itself was proof positive that the harshest of Professor Trelawney's critics (up to and including Hermione 'Mudblood' Granger) were quite wrong and that one _could_ in fact predict the future. Draco certainly had an inkling what his held in store should he spend another moment in that car and it most definitely involved vomit.

He'd been driven around before, of course. Cars were in no way the magical choice of transport if an alternative presented itself, and the cars that _were_ kept around for such a purpose were generally subjects of a vast amount of enchantments, but they did exist here and there. His father and he had been chauffeured to the Quidditch World Cup in one of the Ministry's cars, seeing as they had been special guests of Minister Fudge, and hadn't there also been some ridiculous incident in third year involving Potty and the Weasel? That all seemed like a life time ago.

Still, no trip in a ministry car or even the Knight Bus could have prepared Draco for the mind-numbingly terrifying event that was Faith behind the wheel of a Landrover. While even with the best of wills he could not imagine himself to be anything approaching an expert in proper roadside behaviour, Draco did harbour some suspicion that zooming along increasingly narrower country roads while singing along to the Muggle equivalent of the wireless at the top of ones voice and cheering every time one turned a corner without toppling over was probably not _quite_ the way to do it. He found himself thanking both his ancestors and whatever despicable Muggle responsible for inventing the automobile for installing handles at the side of the seats, and clung on for dear life.

o o o

Despite Faith's many faults – and not all of them restricted to the art of driving – Draco had found himself to be glad to be out of the house. Breakfast had been a strenuous affair, due mostly to his own reticence. While he had been informed several times that the Rectory permanently housed around ten teenaged girls other than Dawn, he had until this morning not been confronted by any of them.

From what Draco had gathered, the girls attended a local comprehensive school during the week – no doubt learning desperately important Muggle things like - …actually Draco couldn't even begin to hazard a guess as to what they might be learning, but he was sure it was both dirty and despicable – however, this being a Saturday, they were congregated en masse in the breakfast room when he came stumbling down the stairs, still mindful of the threat Faith had uttered minutes before in his bedroom. Draco was used to hordes of girls, staring at him wherever he went – he _was_ a Malfoy after all, and a damningly attractive one if he said so himself (Which he did, at great length and with increasing frequency. Draco maintained that an inner monologue was the only way he was going to get any interesting conversation around here and what more natural topic could exist than his fiendishly - if admittedly somewhat pointy - good looks?) but these Muggle girls had showed a deplorable lack of manners, undressing him with their eyes as they had been. No decency whatsoever! He'd felt quite soiled!

He had been vaguely aware of Dawn introducing him and mumbling their names, but had made no effort to remember a single one of them. His mother…his mother had always said that learning the names of the lower classes only encouraged them, and these classes were definitely _low_. Why, one of the girls had been so busy staring at him that she chewed with her mouth wide open. Disgusting! Should the unimaginable ever take place where he would have to address one of these girls, he would give them names as befitting their stations. "Oi you, Mudflap!" had a rather nice ring to it, he felt. Alternatively, he could just call them all Granger.

Heartened somewhat be the prospect of insulting two unrelated parties simultaneously, without either of them noticing, Draco had been roused from his scornful musings when Faith shoved a rectangular pastry _thing_ in his face.

"You want some breakfast, Draco? A poptart?"

"No," he replied stiffly. For all he knew, Andrew could have fashioned it out of erumpent spleens. He quite seemed the type.

"Suit yourself," she'd replied and eaten it in two quick bites.

Draco'd shuddered delicately. Neanderthals, the lot of them. "I'll just wait outside then, shall I?" he had asked in the coldest tone of voice he could muster, "let you get on with _whatever it is that you are doing_." Faith's only response had been to grin and wolf down another pastry, while around her the girls started giggling. Insupportable behaviour!

Draco had instantly made a beeline for the car he saw parked at the end of the garden path. It was small and shiny, and he thoroughly approve. Anything that sleek was guaranteed to go fast, very fast, though it could in his opinion benefit from re-colouring. That particular shade of bright red brought Gryffindor to mind.

"You're barking up the wrong tree there, buddy!" a shout had come from the direction of the Rectory's entrance. Faith – just as abhorrent in the light of day – posed on the steps, twirling what appeared to be a key. "That's Giles' mid-life crisis. We're taking the van. Fifteen people to feed and whatnot," she'd drawled, pointing to a boxy monstrosity Draco had not noticed…presumably because his eyes were attempting to shield his brain from the hideousness of it all. It was brown, ungainly, boxy and just plain horrid. Basically, Draco decided, trudging towards it reluctantly, if Hagrid had been a car, this would have been him.

"Get in, treacle," Faith had rasped at him from the driver's seat and Draco had spent a moment reflecting that her nicknames for him made him feel sad and a little dirty.

o o o

So began the thirty most terrifying minutes of Draco's life.

At a particularly sharp bend in the road, which Faith seemed to have caught by pure accident; seeing as she'd been busy lighting a filthy Muggle cigarette and rooting through a compartment in the car's interior – looking for a DC or something – he realised that this is what the Triwizard Champions must have felt like during the first task, only in this case, he was already _inside_ the dragon.

Absently, he wondered whether dying in a fiery mass of shorn metal and billowing flame really hurt all that much and glumly came to the conclusion that with his luck, he'd probably just lose all his limbs and be forced to live out the remainder of his years; hideously disfigured and dependant on the charity of Muggles. It was enough to make him want to fling himself off the Astronomy Tower, though his bedroom window might do in a pinch. Andrew would no doubt cook his earthly remains and serve them to the Muggle rabble under some insupportable name like 'Draconian Death Pie'.

To be fair, Draco had as yet seen no indication that these Muggles were cannibals as his father had warned him, but he felt that it was better to be safe than sorry. Vegetarianism seemed like _the_ thing to take up during these summer holidays.

As the countryside gradually gave way to a vaguely suburban setting, Draco admitted to himself that he might be behaving a touch hysterically. His godfather would never leave him in a situation that might lead to his being eaten. Sure, there was that unfortunate Hippogriff incident in third year, but Draco _might_ have been exaggerating the severity of his condition just a touch. It was still traumatizing!

Sometimes, late at night in the Slytherin boy's dormitories, Draco had dreams that a big slavering monster was leaning over him - ready to rend his flesh from bones and devour him whole, but in the light of day, he was always able to dismiss them as slightly ridiculous. Poor Millicent just couldn't help herself! He was shockingly good-looking and she had a pre-existing condition! It was perfectly under control as long as she adhered to a strict regiment of potions, and Snape himself said that they had the fits nicely under control now.

It did no good to rest on these macabre thoughts however, as Faith finally pulled into a space at the side of the road.

"Welcome to Cambridge," she said, flinging the cigarette butt out of her window; narrowly missing a mother pushing her pram, "population: some. Home to about a gazillion students and ninety-million pubs," she added, getting out of the car and tapping her feet impatiently in a gesture for Draco to follow, who was not entirely sure his shaky legs could be trusted. On the one hand, he was feeling _really_ enthusiastic about pavement and steady land in general right about now. On the other, climbing out of the car would require brushing past a group of garishly clad Japanese tourists busily snapping pictures of each other posing in front of a perfectly innocuous looking park bench. Hesitating no longer than a split second, Draco chose the lesser of two evils, practically launching himself at Faith in his effort to get out of the van.

He resisted the impulse to cling to a near-by streetlight and shakily informed Faith that she was _the worst driver ever_.

"Actually, I'm not that bad compared to some," she replied thoughtfully, locking the van and setting off down the road, clearly expecting Draco to trot beside her, listening to her vile vile words. "You think I'm bad, wait 'til you see Buffy drive. I won't get into a car when she's behind the wheel, I mean, I'm not crazy!"

This statement was met with some incredulity on Draco's part.

o o o

They spent the next two hours touring what felt like every dreary Muggle shop imaginable. Faith was entirely unsympathetic when Draco expressed the wish to wait outside whenever she entered yet another wretched establishment and forced him to _help_ with the shopping. Choosing between twenty Muggle brands of toothpaste was not how he would have expected to spend his holiday even two weeks ago, but Draco had to admit, that Muggles seemed to have a certain amount of ingenuity. Of course Diagon and Knockturn Alley's were far classier and patronized by the right sort of people, but he had to say that TV's for instance held a certain amount of allure. (Faith had taken pity on him when it came to replenishing the Rectory's tampon supply and had directed him to wait in electronics' shop next to the pharmacy instead.)

o o o

Their last stick of bread and head of broccoli finally secured in the back of the van, Draco was bracing himself for the horror that awaited next: the drive back to the Rectory. He was about to bash his head against the handy park bench to see whether the drive would be more acceptable if he were unconscious, when Faith thrust several colourful pieces of paper at him.

"Right, there's twenty pounds. Meet back here at two!"

Draco blinked in incomprehension.

"Frankly, I'm sick of the sight of you and I'm sure the feelings mutual. So there's some money. Piss off! Go do something fun. Buy yourself something nice or whatever. Maybe then you'll be in a better mood when we drive home, capice? But I'm warning you, don't make me come looking for you. At two on the dot, I expect to see you standing here. Now go on, scram!"

Draco needed no more invitation than that. Hastily stuffing the paper money into his pockets, he set out in a direction at random, only keen to get away from Faith and with absolutely no intention to return.


End file.
